Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1)

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Do it,” Caslin shouted once more, putting the Volvo in gear and resuming his course.

  Several vehicles had driven onto the bridge via the remaining booths. Two of which had slowed after witnessing the incident, unsure of whether they should remain where they were or continue on. Others proceeded across the bridge. Their occupants gawped at the bizarre man, driving the crippled hatchback up the slope. As Caslin got closer, he watched as the stricken vehicle came to a stop in the nearside lane, less than a quarter of the way over. Lee Na Honn jumped out onto the carriageway and attempted to flag down the first car that drove past. The driver showed great sense not to stop, despite the protestations and frantic gesturing of the lone figure, trying to block his way.

  Lee turned as Caslin approached. Withdrawing something from underneath his jumper and pointing it towards him, Caslin was horrified to recognise it as a pistol. Instinctively, he lifted off the accelerator and thought about stopping before quickly realising that he was well within firing range. Considering that a moving target was harder to hit, he pressed the pedal hard. The roar of the engine rose as he accelerated straight towards Lee.

  Whether the gunman recognised Caslin as the driver or not, he couldn’t tell, but a brief flash of white light was followed by a sharp crack as something struck the windscreen of his car. Bracing his hands on the steering wheel he expected to run Lee down but at the last, he hit the brakes and pulled the wheel to the right. The car swerved violently. His tyres howled in protest as he battled to regain control but it was no use. Caslin was unable to focus his vision as a blur of colourful images flashed before his eyes. The feeling of being out of control and almost weightless dominated his senses as he was flung around inside the cabin. The car spun several times before colliding with the central reservation. His head struck something, be it the window, dashboard, or passenger seat, he didn’t know. When the car finally came to a stop, relief washed over him before dissipating to be replaced by a numbness that filtered throughout his body.

  Now facing back towards the toll booths, Caslin could see the information boards flashing to signify that the bridge was closed to traffic in both directions. People milled around watching the drama unfold. Everything had gone quiet and Caslin first surveyed the hole in his windscreen. It was little more than the width of a fingernail with three hairline cracks creeping off in different directions. Then he reached up to make sense of the damp patch that was spreading down the side of his face. Blinking his way through a dizzy spell he looked at his hand, there was blood on it.

  After a moment of confusion, he remembered where he was but there was no sense of urgency or panic. Shaking off the lethargy, he opened the door which protested with a screech followed by the sound of grating metal. Easing his way out he heard crunching glass underfoot. He cast an eye over the car. Steam, or smoke, was escaping from under the bonnet and the smell of something burning filled his nostrils. A cursory glance reassured him that the car itself wasn’t on fire, at least for now, and he looked over towards the blue hatchback some thirty yards away. There was no-one in view.

  Coming around to the rear of his car, Caslin looked for Lee on the ground but there was still no sign of him. Had he hit him after all? For some reason he dropped to his knees and looked underneath, half expecting to see the crumpled form of the gunman but he didn’t. The whirring of rotor blades accompanied by the distinctive roar of the twin-engine helicopter above, made him look up. The police helicopter was taking up position, hovering approximately two hundred feet above the bridge. Another look towards the south side saw the approach of flashing blue lights. Caslin scanned the carriageway, catching sight of Lee Na Honn making off along the pedestrian walkway. His progress appeared laboured and Caslin concluded that he was somehow impaired. Lee also seemed to acknowledge the significance of the police presence and checked his disjointed flight. Turning back towards Caslin, he rested his hands on his thighs to catch his breath.

  At that point, Caslin felt he could allow the cavalry to make the arrest. Leaning against his car he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the blood from the side of his face. Examining the dark smear upon the fabric, he figured that the wound was superficial. Looking skywards once again he took a deep breath and appreciated the slight warmth of the sun on his skin. Returning his attention to Lee, he saw him approach the outer edge of the bridge, examining the barrier of the walkway. Where did he think he was able to go? His next actions answered that unspoken question as Lee took a run up, hurling himself against the barrier in an attempt to scale the fencing.

  At the third attempt, Lee managed to gain a hold at the top and was well into the process of climbing over as Caslin raced towards him. His pace aided him in a terrific leap as he attempted to make up the ground on Lee’s progress. Both men managed to haul their way up with some difficulty before levering themselves over to the other side, dropping to the maintenance access bar below. A gust of wind caught Caslin unawares and he lost his footing whilst trying to compensate and maintain his balance.

  Grasping the structure, he breathed a sigh of relief. Lee appeared before him, striking out with a booted foot and catching Caslin in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of him with some force. A punch to the face followed and he fell backwards, his one-handed grip on the bridge was all that stood between him and a hundred-foot plunge to the freezing water below.

  Swinging himself back towards the bridge, he sought to take hold of his opponent rather than strike out with his free hand. Lee responded by trying to brush him off and back away. Caslin took the opportunity and went with him, contrary to what his assailant expected. In doing so, he managed to improve his hold. Taking advantage of the surprise move, Caslin tugged at Lee’s collar, pulling him out and away from the structure. Before Lee could react, he lost his footing. A flailing arm shot out and grasped Caslin’s forearm just as his feet went from under him. That action arrested his fall but left him dangling precariously over the edge.

  Whether Lee had planned to jump or not, he now clung to Caslin in acknowledgement that his life depended on it. A yelp of pain escaped from Lee due to the stress his muscles were under. Caslin had his right arm wrapped around a stanchion and through gritted teeth, he held on as they were buffeted by the wind. There they remained, apparently locked in a timeless embrace. The roar of the wind almost drowned out the gasps that each man gave out with the exertion of their efforts. They met eyes but neither spoke, such was the concentration required to maintain their position.

  The conditions were beginning to take their toll. The wind chill, along with bare skin on freezing metal ensured that Caslin began to go numb, not only his hands but his entire body. He dared not look up for fear of losing focus and desperately hoped that assistance would arrive soon. As if to reinforce that point, Lee’s grip began to wane and his hand slipped further down the length of Caslin’s arm. In turn, Caslin felt his arm was about to be torn from its socket.

  “I had such plans,” Lee shouted, trying to be heard above the noise of the wind.

  Caslin didn’t reply, grimacing at the pain that he now felt throughout every muscle. To his dismay he saw Lee release the tenuous grip that he had on his forearm. That left him as the only difference between life and death in the Humber far below.

  “Take a hold of me,” Caslin yelled, but Lee only looked at him with a placid expression that conveyed little. “Take a hold, damn it.”

  “This is the difference between you and me, Inspector,” Lee shouted, his voice barely audible. “When all is said and done, you can’t do it. You’re not like us but you need us. Without us, you are nothing.”

  “Grab a hold of me or you’re going to die,” Caslin yelled back, feeling the tightness of his grip loosening.

  “You could have killed me on the bridge. Ended it there and then but you couldn’t.” Lee gave him a wry smile. “Even after everything I’ve done, you still… need… me.”

  Those words sent a cascade of fleeting images through Caslin’s mind. The family ph
oto of the Horsvedts, the expression on Claire Skellon’s face, Hayley Underwood and finally his own children.

  “No, I don’t,” Caslin whispered softly.

  The wind rattled throughout the surrounding steel. That, coupled with the extra weight and the imbalance of his poise, had threatened to blow him off the bridge at any moment. Placing two hands on the structure, he was able to brace himself as he watched the diminishing figure of Lee Na Honn until he disappeared from view, striking the freezing water below.

  Chapter 32

  Little had changed in the waiting area of the x-ray department. The total reached eighteen once again. However, the solitary brown chair appeared to have been breeding at the expense of the green ones. The reason that Caslin could retain such information was lost on him but, he considered, it was still some form of an art. Summoned into a consultation room to review his injuries he was grateful to have to wait no longer. The last time he sat there he was not alone and the memory was unwelcome.

  “You’ll be thankful to learn that you have a mild concussion, nothing more,” the doctor stated with a genuine smile.

  “Take it easy in the office for a few days?” Caslin asked.

  “Best to take a few days off. Put your feet up but try not to go to sleep as soon as you get home. It would be better to stay awake for a while. If there’s a change in your condition, blurring of the vision, nausea, any symptoms such as that, then you should come back immediately.”

  Caslin nodded and offered his thanks before leaving. The doctor’s words almost made him burst out laughing but he had kept himself in check. A few days off were likely but not anytime soon. The chase for Lee Na Honn was over. At least it would be once his body was recovered from the Humber or the North Sea, bearing in mind the nature of the tides.

  The Coastguard had called out the Spurnpoint Lifeboat crew immediately after Lee had fallen from the bridge. The vessel was on the scene with frightening speed but as of yet, the body was still missing. Apparently, the Humber Bridge had recently been ranked ninth in a league of favoured suicide locations around the world, with only five people ever having survived the drop to the water below. The search assumed Lee was still alive but Caslin doubted it very much. Lasting twenty minutes in the freezing water of the estuary would have been impressive and it had been hours.

  Walking past the newsagent’s kiosk he glanced at the cigarettes behind the counter, bringing a smile to his face.

  “Not this time,” he said to himself. Continuing on out into the sunshine, he had to shield his eyes from the glare.

  The day was cold with a bitter wind but despite that, he felt good. The best he had in days. The toot of a car horn made him look to his left as DC Holt pulled up. Winding his window down and waving to get Caslin’s attention, he beckoned him over.

  “The Guv suggested that you might need a lift.”

  Caslin nodded and got into the passenger side, putting on the seatbelt. The action made him wince. It was a harsh reminder of the bruising to his ribs. Holt noticed and grimaced in sympathy.

  “Painful?”

  “Not too bad,” Caslin replied, remembering the crash, the hole in his windscreen as well as the potential of plummeting to his death from the bridge that morning. “All things considered, I think I got away with it.”

  “Good to hear,” Holt said. He pulled out of the collection zone and made his way from the car park, completely oblivious to the extra meaning behind Caslin’s response.

  “Any word on the father?”

  “Aye, he’ll be grand but it will take a while. A few broken bones, plus fractures to his cheek and jaw. It was the fingers that the little bastard broke, strangely enough. They reckon he was dishing out a bit of torture on his father. Twisted or what?”

  Caslin didn’t answer but he figured Holt was right. It had been quite telling, after the event, that Lee’s father had said that he “made a man out of you” to his son. Presumably he viewed the latter as a weak child, either mentally or physically, perhaps both. Had Lee been a let-down growing up? If so they had something in common there. It was also possible that his father was taking an opportunity to score some kind of victory over his son, in what he perceived were his last moments. Caslin didn’t know and ultimately didn’t care.

  Whatever had driven Lee to do what he did was of little interest to him. Nothing could justify or rationalise them in his mind’s eye. Although he felt certain that psychologists would attempt to do so in the coming weeks, months and years.

  “The DCI says that there will have to be an investigation. Most likely it’ll be referred to the IPCC, what with it being an officer-involved death,” Holt said, glancing across more frequently than Caslin liked. He would’ve much preferred him to keep his eyes on the road. One accident in a day was enough.

  Caslin shrugged, bringing another stab of pain via his shoulder.

  “So be it.”

  “You’ll be fine. You tried to save him, after all,” Holt said with an intimation of reassurance.

  Caslin stared straight ahead at the early afternoon traffic they were encountering along the A63. He paid little attention to Holt’s apparent attempt at support. Arriving at the station an hour later, they took the circuitous route into the car park and entered via the rear yard. In doing so, they bypassed the melee of journalists camped at the front entrance.

  The news broke first thing about the failed operation at the diner the previous night and followed onto the fast-evolving story that climaxed upon the Humber Bridge. The media had been clamouring for interviews since dawn, having only been drip-fed information from the police. Social media had played a part in the ensuing frenzy. People were putting two and two together following the events of the morning. Correctly for once as it turned out.

  Entering CID to rapturous applause, Caslin felt rather self-conscious and more than a little embarrassed but he handled it with good grace. The noise level was far greater than he would have appreciated under normal circumstances. Simon Baxter was one of the first to approach him.

  “Well done, Nathaniel. Good job,” he said as he offered him his hand, clapping Caslin’s shoulder at the same time. That brought about another stab of acute pain through his upper body.

  “Thanks Simon, I’ll bet you’re pleased. You’ll be able to head off soon, then.”

  Baxter looked back at him quizzically.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Any talk of Basra also died this morning, didn’t it? One day you might tell me what you’re really doing here.”

  “Just what are you saying?” Baxter countered.

  “Only you and Gerry Trent accessed the McNeil evidence in storage, after it was submitted.”

  “Yes, so what?”

  “Lift anything useful from the mobile phone?”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Even so, the whitewash is complete, isn’t it?”

  Baxter grinned in a telling manner, lowering his voice so that no-one else could hear his reply.

  “It is my favourite colour, after all. Very clean and precise.”

  “You’re going to let them get away with it?”

  Baxter shook his head vigorously, “That’s not my call, Caslin. That situation has so much negativity attached to it already. It’s in no-one’s interest to add more.”

  “We were supposed to be there to help those people.”

  “Just remember. Over there, we were the good guys.”

  “So, we’re told, yes—”

  Caslin was about to respond further but the all too brief conversation was interrupted. The throng of well-wishers, wanting to proffer their own congratulations, swept Caslin away.

  “Good work, Nathaniel.” A voice came from behind. Caslin turned to receive a firm handshake from DI Atwood. Mercifully, it was far gentler than Baxter’s. Caslin was unsure as to his level of sincerity. The expression appeared genuine and the tone hit the right notes. However, he was still uncertain whether his fellow DI was slightly put out
by the case breaking without him at the centre of it.

  “Thanks,” Caslin said. “I’ll be honest and say I would rather you had been there, than me.”

  DI Atwood smiled at that.

  “Of that, I am sure but you get the plaudits this time. Rightly deserved too.”

  “You’ll get your day, Michael, don’t worry,” Caslin said.

  Whether DI Atwood took offence at Caslin’s implication that he was keen to be in the limelight or not, he didn’t wait around to see. At the first opportunity where it wouldn’t appear rude, he made himself scarce, heading to the washroom for some peace. Running a basin of cold water, he doused his face first and then his neck. The water refreshed his rapidly stiffening muscles. He saw Frank Stephens’ reflection in the mirror as the DCI entered behind him, acknowledging his arrival without turning around.

  “How are you doing, Nathaniel?”

  Caslin shrugged, “I’ve had worse days.”

  Stephens smiled as he spoke, “I’m pleased that you managed to pull it all together.”

  “Not very clean though, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t. You know there’ll be an—”

  “Investigation, the IPCC. Yeah, Terry Holt told me.”

  “Just routine, under the circumstances we have to refer it to them. It’s no reflection on you.”

  Caslin nodded. For once he thought that that was reasonable.

  “I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “The chopper has it all on camera, so it will be tied off quickly enough.”

  Caslin returned his gaze to his own reflection and watched the water dripping from his face into the basin below. He took a deep breath.

  “Good.”

  “And you know we’ll have to have a conversation about you going off by yourself this morning. Not to mention that you should’ve obtained a warrant before going in. Whatever made you think he would go back to Hull, anyway?”

  Caslin smiled, “I didn’t. As much as some people think I’m some kind of Sherlock Holmes, I just couldn’t see myself going home to bed and thought I’d check out his father. I got lucky. And don’t worry about the improper procedure. The door had been jimmied, so I knew a crime was in progress.”